


Freckles

by Door



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 02:16:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Door/pseuds/Door
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she came home from Boston for spring break to fight evil, Lydia expected the sleepless nights and endless research.  She didn't expect Scott McCall.</p>
<p>
  <i>"You're too nice for me," she said, feeling a little desperate.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He shook his head slowly.  "I don't think I am."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freckles

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't had the urge to write anything for months, and then I saw [these photos](http://stilinskisparkles.tumblr.com/post/73531016985/id-probably-put-hoechlin-as-a-wooly-mammoth-i) of Holland Roden and a wild story appeared! It used inspiration. It was super effective.

There'd been a time when Lydia Martin would have set her own hair on fire rather than own anything which could arguably be described as a "hiking boot."  Those were golden days.  She missed them.

("I'd go with the lower heel," Allison said without looking up from her textbook, "you'll appreciate it the next time we're sprinting away from something awful."

Lydia considered the two (relatively) stylish boot options on the screen in front of her.  "How dare you suggest I can't sprint in heels.")

"Careful of that branch," Scott pointed out.

Lydia stepped over it in her (ugh) low-heeled boots with a scornful expression.  "I have eyes, McCall."

He chuckled in response.  "I forgot, Allison said you're always grumpy after all-nighters."

"And what part of this excursion is supposed to inspire cheer in me, exactly?"  She cast her face into its archest expression, the one she chose when she wanted to see lesser mortals cower.  It was enormously effective on the men of Boston.

Scott smiled genially, oblivious to her intent.  "I dunno, reducing the Nemeton evil output seems like a happy sort of thing.  When you think about it."

The Nemeton, of course, was the cause for this errand, as well as the reason she and Allison had cancelled their trip to Paris and instead come home to Beacon Hills for spring break.  It was the reason she'd been up every night that week with her face buried in a book, listening to Stiles Stilinski crack terrible jokes and waggle his eyebrows suggestively at Derek.  They'd managed to come up with wards they were pretty confident would mask most of the Nemeton's, well, _beacon_ , and had headed straight out to put them in effect.  They'd left Allison passed out on a sofa.  She had no talent for anything magical, and it seemed cruel to rob her of the sleep they all craved.  Lydia was unable to work magic (her immunity extended to everything except for the occasional terrifying premonition of death), but was mostly along to ensure Stiles didn't screw anything up.

Which reminded her—"Why are you back here with me instead of up ahead?  Don't you and Stiles have an arm-punching quota to meet this week?"

Scott shrugged.  "He and Derek are already in the clearing.  They've been making out against a tree for the last 10 minutes."

"Of course," Lydia grumbled.  It hadn't bothered _Stiles_ to come home for spring break.  Home was where the boyfriend was.

"'Sides, you shouldn't have to walk alone," Scott finished.

Lydia gestured briefly with the hand holding her rapier.  She'd ended up taking a fencing course after a bizarre scheduling mishap in her first semester at MIT, and she'd shocked herself by really enjoying it.  She enrolled in private lessons after the semester, and her father, in a rare moment of actually knowing what was happening in her life, had given her a beautiful, perfectly weighted rapier for her birthday.  (Her mother had been horrified.)  Stiles had stolen it, covered it in rune spells of protection (plus one he promised would shrink the balls of any werewolf the blade touched), and rewrapped it in paper decorated with lightsabers.

"I can take care of myself," she said.  Her days of cowering and screaming were over.

"I know," Scott answered simply, but stayed at her side.

They passed the next few minutes in silence.  The woods gradually filled with light as the sun rose.  Lydia's breath fogged in the chill morning air.

"You have freckles," Scott said, out of nowhere.  Lydia looked at him in mute—scathing—question.  "Across your nose," he continued, as if her expression shouldn't have flayed him alive.  Ugh, she'd forgotten how infuriating it was to be with people who _knew_ her.

"Your point?" she asked finally, when he continued to look wonderingly at her nose.

"Have you always had them?"

She sighed heavily.  There was no intimidating the oblivious.  "They come out in the sun."  They'd made a few trips out to the Nemeton thus far in the week, and she may have skipped the sunscreen on a couple of them.  It all blurred together in a mass of supernatural research and trial and error.

"I like them," Scott said.  "They make you seem more human."

"I am human, Scott."  Well.  Mostly.

"Yeah," he said earnestly, "but you've always been above us, you know?"  He paused briefly.  "There might be remnants of the years Stiles spent calling you a goddess in that statement."

"Since when has he stopped?"  Stiles had called her a goddess no less than two hours ago when she'd had the epiphany that had lead to their breakthrough on the wards.

"Oh, he hasn't," Scott grinned, "but these days it's mostly to make Derek jealous.  He growls super low, way below human hearing range, and then gets all angry about it.  It's really funny, actually."

"Embarrassing Derek Hale is a noble cause, I suppose," she conceded.

Scott tilted his head slightly, then grinned again.  "He's doing it now," he laughed, then knocked his shoulder against hers in solidarity.  She wasn't expecting the hit, and stumbled to the side on the uneven ground.  Scott reached out an arm, reflexes lightning quick, and yanked her back towards him.

She found herself pressed against him shoulder to knee, neck bent back so she was looking up at him.  She was shorter than she was used to (damn boots), but her breath still caught at the unexpected proximity.  Scott's eyes flared red, but then he was stepping back with an apology, looking utterly brown-eyed and human, and she almost thought she'd imagined it.

"Careful of the blade," she said to him, just to fill the silence.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, glancing warily at the sword.  “Balls.”

She stifled the surprised (and utterly undignified) snort that threatened to make its way out of her.  Scott McCall.  Responsible alpha werewolf and dedicated nursing student.  For all that he’d ditched the floppy hair and embraced his destiny of leadership, he was still the goofball underneath it all.

They walked on.

"I'm glad you're here," Scott spoke quietly.  They were nearly at the clearing, but he stopped walking.  She halted, too.  "It's nice to have everyone together, and I know you and Allison were really looking forward to Paris, but it's good that you're here.  Both of you."  He looked away briefly, drawing in a breath, then met her gaze again.  "Just you.  I, um.  I like your freckles, Lydia."

She could feel her gaze soften despite herself, and a curious melting around her heart.  She'd felt it once before, when they'd danced together at prom (she'd gone with Stiles on a whim and had spent the evening enjoyably scoffing and rolling her eyes), but had assumed it was a fluke.  He hadn’t looked goofy then, in his sharp tux and scuffed shoes.  He’d taken a sophomore girl, practically a baby, and made her entire year.

"You're too nice for me," she said, feeling a little desperate.

He shook his head slowly.  "I don't think I am."  He sent her a final grin, then continued into the clearing.

She blinked after him.  Scott McCall.  Who'd have thought?

* * *

 

Back in Boston, she unpacked her suitcase, stowed her rapier, took her rapier back out, polished it, then stowed it again.  They’d come back a day early so she could start work on a paper, but she found she didn’t have the heart for it.  She made herself a cappuccino, laboring over the foam until it was thick and perfect, then sat on the sofa to drink it.  Allison paused the Kung fu movie she was watching and looked at her in silence.

"What?"  Lydia demanded.

Her roommate rolled her eyes and resumed the movie.

"I don't understand what you enjoy about these," Lydia gestured at the screen.

"Call him," Allison responded.  Then, as if unable to help herself, muttered "Bruce Lee is an artist."

Lydia finished her drink and washed the dish.  She scowled at her hands in the sink.  "I can feel you smirking at me and I don't appreciate it."

"Why are you acting so nervous?"  Allison asked from behind her.

"I'm never nervous," Lydia responded, then stalked into the bathroom to draw a bubble bath.

An hour later, she sat in her bed staring down at her phone, wearing monogrammed pajamas like armor.

"Suck it up, Martin," she ordered herself, and pressed firmly down on Scott's name in her contacts.

It rang, for far longer than she thought it would, before Scott answered.  He sounded out of breath.  "Hi," he said.

"Hi," she responded.

_"Tell her you like her freckles!"_ Stiles shouted in the background, then howled with laughter.

There was a muffled _thump_ , a yelp that could only be Stiles, a hissed _"Shut up, you called Derek 'honeywolf’ yesterday,"_ the final click of a door shutting, and then silence.

A beat passed, and then Scott said, solemnly, "I like your freckles, Lydia."

The smile seemed to start at her toes, undoing her until she was sinking back onto her pillows, grinning.  "You idiot," she said fondly, and he laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about fencing. If you do, and my ignorance has offended you, I apologize. For the record, because it is important to me that people know this, Lydia and Allison are both in Boston, but Allison attends Tufts. Stiles goes to Berkeley. Scott and Allison are totally cool, and Allison will never love anyone like she loves Bruce Lee.


End file.
